Monthly Archives: January 2011

He lived up the block from me. We sat near each other in most of our classes in junior high. My last name started with an E and his started with an F. The alphabet brought us together initially, but then we found ourselves under the influence of inner urges neither of us understood at the time. All the kids knew we liked each other in the way that young teenagers pick up on the smallest vibe and make it into a full-blown thing. We were watched by all our friends: the girls cataloged every look, every smile, for nuance and reported back to me; the boys just acted stupid, as always. Tensions rose among our circle of friends. When would he make a move? Inquiring minds wanted to know.

One day in our World History class, right under the nose of Mrs. Stott who had proven that she had eyes in the back of her head, he made his grab for my hand under cover of darkness. It was movie day, and we had discreetly scooted our chairs together the tiniest bit as the lights went out. Word spread in whispers around the class. We were supposed to be watching a movie about Mesopotamia. To this day, there is a huge gap in my knowledge about the cradle of civilization.

I remember nothing

Over the tinny sound track, the disembodied voice of the movie’s narrator droned on about the Fertile Crescent. But my fingers were entwined with a boy’s and all my attention shot to the nerve endings in my fingertips. Electricity arced between our sweaty palms while images flickered on the projection screen in front of the classroom. My heart fluttered as I slid my foot closer to his.

The movie dragged to its conclusion and the teacher flipped the lights back on. She immediately honed in on the two of us as we pulled apart —not quite quickly enough to escape her eagle eye. Just before the bell rang, she said something pointed about inappropriate displays of affection in public and we both slunk out of the room, red-faced and dizzy with excitement.

Shortly after this daring caper, he asked me to go steady. My parents didn’t want me to go steady with anyone, let alone a boy they hadn’t met. He wanted to give me a ring; he may have given it to me and I had to give it back. I’m no longer sure. In any case, we were not allowed to say we were going steady. He walked me home and we held hands and I never knew what the difference would have been if we’d called it going steady instead of nothing. I couldn’t sleep at night, imagining him, just up the street, trying to sleep too. I tried to imagine him next to me, but the scene disappointingly faded to black, ending with an ellipsis before anything happened. Our family was moving to a different city the summer after 7th grade. My parents bought a house and that was that. And it turned out that his family was moving away too. Even though we’d be living less than fifteen miles apart, we may as well have been at opposite ends of the earth: too young to drive and no way to see each other without involving parents, and I already knew my parents would never chauffer me to his house in a million years.

At the end of the school year, one of my friends gave the two of us a going-away party. When I got to the party, he had a surprise for me. As a going away present and a token of his love, he gave me a pair of his baby shoes: white leather, soft-soled, lace-up baby shoes. I don’t think his mother knew about this gift. It meant something special at the time, and I did keep the shoes for many years, tucked away in a box of mementoes and letters from my childhood. I was never quite sure why he thought his baby shoes would be an appropriate gift. He took a pretty long view for a thirteen year old.

We danced at the party — lots of slow ones. The kids hung around outside on the patio under the strings of lights draped overhead. Everyone gave us plenty of space while we danced. He never got up the nerve to kiss me. God knows he had the chance, and with everyone watching too. But then my parents showed up and I had to leave. I had to leave my own party early. So unfair. I bet he would have been a good kisser, maybe with some practice.But at least I got to hold his hand…

With apologies to Jo Ann Beard for ripping off her title, here is a rogue’s gallery of the men who made me swoon when I was a young girl: a flotilla of dreamboats… Oh, David… David McCallum was on The Man from U.N.C.L.E. His character, Illya Kuryakin, was smart and funny and Russian. On one… Continue Reading

The symbol for enchantment and love at first sight! My best friend. Sort of. I was her wing man, her less-pulled together wisecracking sidekick. She had it all: good looks– like a young Cybill Shepherd –a doting mother, baton lessons, an array of new dresses for school every September, and oh yes, boys eating out… Continue Reading

This is like the part where you just start throwing stuff into boxes marked “Miscellaneous” right before the movers show up. It’s the 14th of January, and by my own arbitrary rule, this is the day I move on to the next five year span. But I left a bunch of stuff out! I’m not… Continue Reading

No, this isn’t going to be about punctuation. Nor does it have anything to do with history. Yeah, right It’s about that other kind of period. The one that I was so excited about before it started. The one I couldn’t wait to get. I was practically hopping up and down, waiting for this undeniable… Continue Reading

His name was Chip, as in “off the old block.” Black hair, dark eyes, a real cutie.If he had a real name, I don’t remember it. But he was the rabbi’s son and he asked me to go to the movies with him. I asked my mom and she talked to his mom (what were… Continue Reading

Go ahead and inhale Proust had his madeleine, and I have Fritos. Just the smell of these addictive, crunchy corn chips takes me back to my friend Karen’s house, the place I first tasted tuna that wasn’t tricked out with stuff that was good for you.At my house, the tuna had special additives–celery, radishes, maybe… Continue Reading

The old clunker Just like Dinah said! We drove back east in our battleship gray Plymouth Cranbrook, but on the way back to California, after our year in New York, we stopped in Detroit and bought a new car! A red station wagon. We saw the USA in a Chevrolet! It was really this red.… Continue Reading